Scooby and Shaggy go to Chipotle
by prickbarf
Summary: This is something that I wrote a year and a half ago.


Scooby and Shaggy go to Chipotle

Scooby and Shaggy definitely go into Chipotle, through the door as advertised. One of them's wearing a collar, I bet you would've guessed it was the dog but it's not so simple. You see, they had a fight earlier on about who got to wear the collar and with the way things went, Shaggy just ended up buying one himself. Scooby, on the other hand, was completely naked and would've eaten his collar that night anyways. As they went in through the automatic doors, an unfamiliar aroma shot into their skulls: "What is this? Fried hot-dog pasta in a Tex-Mex Rex? I would've never guessed, scoob!" "Rike yeah, Raggy!", replied Scoob. It was already 2 PM, and they hadn't even ordered yet: too many compromising choices on the menu: you had your baked burrito bazillions, you had a damn taco, you had all sorts of condiments and trinkets, monuments and blankets: these were all smallpox souvenirs, embellished in scabs, really. It would've never occurred to me that such a workplace hazard would've even existed in a place like this. 'Why was it even on the menu?', I'm sure you're pondering out loud – if not, you're definitely pondering it. Well, you see, Shaggy and Scooby are several steps behind you: they find all of these things appetizing, and they're not going to stop until they die. Taking turns grabbing bills from their communal wallet, they paid the cashier at least six times before they got their food: because from within that wallet, they offered to trade credit cards, ticket stubs, food stamps, debit cards, and a whole lot of money. Successfully, they got about 60% of the entire menu on one table, and they weren't going to hesitate to eat all of it before closing. Luckily, it was all finger food so they didn't have to waste any kinetic energy grabbing utensils, even though they were everywhere. The salt shaker on the table that the duo picked to use was prepped and ready to go to spill everywhere: nasty kids! It didn't matter, Shaggy was used to taking in a lot of salt; he almost had a penchant for the most sodium-packed peanuts, not even taking off the shells when he chewed them, and thus it got all in his teeth and he was one unhappy camper. Scooby, on the other hand, has jaws much more fitting for grinding up inedible matter, look at those molars! If it weren't for me, I'd be having Scooby eat all of my laundry, mow the yard with his appetite, and worst of all, make him eat sulfur. Anyways, all the food has cooled off now, they're ready to eat and nothing's going to stop them. The first bite was probably out of the pizza they brought in: what, you didn't notice? Yeah they carried a whole pepperoni pizza from home and needed it to cool off on the car ride over, so it was perfectly ready to eat. Slice after slice, the entire pizza was consumed in half an hour: they really needed to pace themselves if they were going to bite into every last crumb. They looked full, but those stomachs are just lying cavities, they'll never feel satisfaction at this rate, time to step it up guys? No, they couldn't hear a word because they chew with their mouths open. "Like, Scoob this pizza man it could've been a lot better." Shaggy dabbed his chin and mouth-area with a dirty napkin. "I may as well of just brought the trail mix before we have to hike later today in the middle of the night. I heard the moose come out in the early morning hours and I dunno Scoob I'm just feeling crazy enough to eat one alive." Scooby cocked his head for the first time since he was a puppy, and through primal emotions, almost considered biting him. But this was all in vain thinking, Scooby had so much food in front of him that even thinking of such bastardity would not have surprised even the most naïve dweeb in the world. He took the first bite out of the genuine Chipotle burrito: it satisfied on a few levels, the beans were pretty evenly distributed through the skin of the product, cheese was melted to satisfactory means, the ground pork and baloney really mixed well with the cream cheese, buffalo sauce, and nerds ground up in a coffee machine, resulting in a fine luminescent dust. This food was completely foreign to our friends, your friends, and society: this was food reserved for morons, for mavericks, for marmalade-lickers: this was food destined to be eaten when all other food has been ate: this is food that will outlive your relatives, your relatives' relatives, and society. This is exactly what Shaggy was thinking before yoinking the burrito out of the komodo dragon's (Scooby's) mouth, to savor what flavor was left to be had. "Like Scooby as long as I've been around your drooling mouth, it never detracts from the delicious food we share", Shaggy shoved the whole thing in his mouth, even what he lost to Scoob. Scooby bared his teeth. "Rooby dooby doooooooo…" Scooby quivered solemnly, his tear ducts unable to produce any moisture. He looked at the iced tea he bought with his own money, why did he get a straw for heaven's sakes? He's a dog, and cannot ever use his hands like a human's, unless he feels like it. Instead of the proper technique of lapping it up with his big, goofy tongue, he instead pawed it off of the table, a wet plastic cup rolling around on government property. He panted, then gulped, then shifted his eyes, then fell aslumber.

"Alright scewb, ready for the double decker pizza?" Shag had a keen eye on his face, he knew that Scooby was already getting sleepy, and once doing so he'd have all the food to himself. Scooby drifted in and out of puppy consciousness, reliving his past as a regular dog, with a wagging tail, big bushy nose, and his ears were freaking huge! REM sleep is supposed to occur with your eyelids closed, but not in Scooby's case! He had a giant back-up plan: if he had to eat his money's worth, he'd just do it while he was asleep and ask questions later. Like a wind-up chattertoy, Scooby's teeth plowed through what looked like lasagna, but was actually the taco salad in dense, brick form: a solid 14 pounds. His tummy and intestines distended to the establishment floor, crushing the ants that were coming up to infest their table: good job Scoob, maybe now you can finally save Tom's picnic from being sabotaged by insects, or dogs with collars, or dogs with collars named Spike, or their kids, or Shaggy's own jealousy! You have to admit though, while Scooby has a pretty dynamic chin, Shaggy's is much more pointy, and with his cleft-chin disability, he can effectively write with no hands, just place the pen inside that slot and he'll write for hours, mostly about ghosts in the sloppiest of cursive, but shhhh he only uses ink that looks like blood. Yes so our friend Fred Flinstone decides to walk in too, and he's got a visage painted on his skull that looks like he just won the lottery: 200 bucks. Enough to buy Wilma dinner, "I guess" Fred thinks. He slides his unclothed buttocks onto the bar table and asks for a tequila with a lime, y'know some salt, in a salt shaker "I like to gauge how much salt I put in my tequila before a squeal, uhhhh, how'd you get THAT?" he shifts his attention over to Scooby, who proudly displayed the aforementioned dynamic chin. "That thing would win ya big bucks in Vegas! I would know, y'know – people assume I gamble, but it's not gambling if you win every time!" He lifted himself from his stool using only his powerful, muscular arms and swung himself just inches away from Scooby's face. "Wuddya say, would you pay me hundred bucks to see your face… Hooo, sorry" He uses an inhaler. "What I meant to say was could I pay you 5 bucks to take a picture of your face?" He twiddles his thumbs, he buttons his shirt, he puts on his pants and his faces and awaits an answer from Scooby. Scooby does a realistic dog whine and walks over of Freddy, completely trusting in him – in fact, he almost left Chipotle! It would've made a lot more sense of Shaggy just kept eating what he bought (or brought), but no he was really eyeing that prehistoric freak: what mind did he have to extort an aging dog who was already pretending to suffer from hip dyslexia (he mixed up his hips). Oh, Shaggy definitely had an aneurysm before walking up to Fred and thinking very hard before he said anything. "I remember all you black-haired children from my school, and it was something I had to deal with on a daily basis. This crimson hair of mine has been a family genetic disorder that has been passed on through all of the wimpy Rogers in my family. My uncle, my wife, my three children to be, and even a pup named Scooby Doo: all these men proudly wore their rouse fur without batting a lash, or lashing a bat, or getting lashed, or getting hit with a bat: any of these fine punishments would go unheard when they showed how red they really got. You think it just stays the same color, _well you're wrong man. This hair changes color, from red to grey, while your hair stays black until you die. You won't even know you're senile when you finally croak and fall over, you're too busy being invested in your good, cavemen looks – and what a disguise those looks are? Did you even know you had a stroke? Did you even know I killed Wilma? Barney's certainly gone too, he left the scene while it was happening! And don't even get me started on Dino, that's where I got this fucking collar from!" _Shaggy's eyes grew furious. "AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON DINO, THAT'S WHERE I GOT THIS FUCKING COLLAR FROM." He punched Fred square in the face, and dented his chin, just like Scooby. There's his picture, he doesn't need to ask anymore. He couldn't anyways, probably dead. He didn't check, the employees just dragged him out of the door, like every other drunk that comes in. "Like Scoob you just can't walk away with strangers, they might have g-g-g-GHOSTS in their car!" He was obviously lying about the real dangers to Scoob, but with the dog's childlike intellect, he didn't want to rock his world just yet. They walked back to their soiled table, where the food in front of them was indeed still solid matter. Might as well get started on that damn taco, it had a flaky consistency, kind of like an onion's, but with all sorts of Mexican flavors. Flowering cactus, pork, tamales: all it goes to the same place. They actually ate this like regular food, shoving it down their throats without it touching any of their taste buds: and yet, they said Yum! "What the deuce?" a voice was heard from inside the building. These two knew better than to turn their heads and look around for who said that, it would invest too much time and Chipotle was going to close within the next 5 hours: babies invest too much of your time, so why even bother? This is why Shaggy has never attempting having children: I mean look at Scrappy. Okay, so they finished their tacos, had small talk, you know – typical dog stuff. It would've been funny if they sniffed each other's butts, but these animals, this human and this dog, were domesticated long ago by their ancestors: the dogs trained the dogs to act like wolves and then, once again, act like dogs. The humans span around each other like tops gravitationally attracted to one another, like whirligigs dancing the dance of life in perfect, 3D motion. Many colors tended to fly back in these days, humans still had a moral compass, and could train animals to do tricks! But these were the heydays of our existence, no more can animals achieve potential beyond what Madre Nature attended. It was a reverting back to the naturalistic cage which was out of most people's reach before they everyone stopped being a circus. Shaggy took out a bullwhip from his front pocket and snatched the burritos from the kitchen like was Indiana, and just like Indiana, he had to survive through a curse. Tsk tsk tsk.

They were wearing clothes far out of their league. They had purses twice the size and values of their cars. They had lipstick, they had makeup, they had skirts and the longest socks you've ever seen. They had glasses, both of them: they were the same colors as their skin. They had their hair in buns, their eyelashes were still dripping with the messiest mascara I'd ever seen, Scoob. Such were the things noticed upon the arrival of the girls from the van, Velma and uh, Daphne. Walking side by side, hand in hand, like the lesbian couple that was never meant to be, but not really, because they were just friends, here they come! "Like, Scoob don't we know these guys?" Shaggy kidded. "Ha ha, very funny Shaggy." Said Daphne, almost in unison with Velma, who said the same thing but a split-second too late, so it was just awkward. "We were just around the mall, and we decided to walk in to check up on you guys!" Shaggy popped a smallpox scab into his mouth, and swished it around like it was fish food, but it didn't not bode well. "Yack, this shit tastes like Nickelodeon gack! Yack!" Shaggy attempted to induce vomiting, but oh yeah, there were women around. Better play it cool, dude. "Like, we're doing okay – we still have a lot of work to do though!" He points out all the food, all the lukewarm food, they've yet to eat. "Like, gross Shaggy! Aren't you worried that this food isn't good anymore? You've been here for almost four hours, and everything, even the water, has grown stale! If I were you, I'd check with the manager – most of these things aren't even on the menu!" "Shaggy chuckled. "Heh, yeah, we brought some of this stuff in, and they also kind of bribed us so we'd stop giving them things from our wallet, and like, what a bargain! It's that right, Scoob?" The dog was in no mood to talk. He had been gazing at legs he'd never seen before, those luscious pantyhose, ripped maybe, but still lookin' good. Daphne had really let herself go, but she looked happy, and man if that's not what counts then yeah I guess not. Her lips evoked imagery from third world countries, and I'm talking about the royalty from third-world countries, so yeah she looked pretty nice, with her crimson hair, not yet grayed, neither black, nor was she spayed. Scooby would've reiterated thousands of lines of poetry to this vixen, if just for one delicate pat on the head. His ears wiggled with the possibility that just he and Daphne would go to the park together, and he'd be walked for miles. "Raphne, rook over there!" Scooby didn't point to any direction in particular, so Daphne just kind of fluttered her eyeballs in tens of different directions, hoping to catch whatever Scooby was talking about, but to no avail. Scooby realized the pointlessness of this and just bowed his head in shame, tsking himself and lapping up the bowl of water that the employees thought would be fitting for a dog who wasn't supposed to be in there in the first place. "Well, me and my girlfriend …. [there was a long pause] are going to go the bathroom, not to urinate, just to talk." They left, hand in hand, their act openly extinguished any proper conversation that could've been had. Shaggy made a gesture of pointing his hand like a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. Scooby laughed, and then he also took in a smallpox scab, effortlessly, by breathing. This was a disaster scenario waiting to happen, and they still weren't full! Luckily, breaks were acceptable, and Shaggy had a voyeuristic idea: using a stethoscope that he pawned off of a Pup named Scooby Doo, they would eavesdrop on women in the bathroom, not because they got off on it, but more because these were men who liked to know what no other men would care to know, or dare to know. They took this piece of medical paraphernalia over to the automatic door in the bathroom. It opened because they got too close, but luckily, the women seemed to be in the stalls, urinating! What the hell did I just say? Not urinating, holy shit. So they tip-toed over to the stalls where the heavily-clothed big women were doing their private sermons with urine, but much to the dismay of our spies, the stalls also had automatic doors, and lo and behold, men staring at girls going to the bathroom, with a stethoscope. Most people would've found this very, very accessible, but Velma and Daphne were all but horrified. "Who are these men?" Velma said. "Looks like your run-of-the-mill con-artists!" Daphne replied. They left the room in a shuffle, and then left the building in a shuffle, probably upset but would forget it after shopping more. Shaggy and Scooby high-fived each other, because they both realized how much they sucked. Scooby's paw flickered like a candle, because he really had a lot of energy, and must've given Shaggy 25 high fives before heading back to the table. "Raggy, raggy, raggy. Where did our food gooooooooo." The table was completely clean , no food, no utensils, not even the napkins they soaked in tears. "Looks like someone picked up out potpourri of sandwiches, meats, and lasagna, Scoob. We've gotta get outta here, man!" They attempted to exit the door, only to immediately wind up back to the table, sitting down. "Rut just happened, shaggy?" "I dunno man, but I'm getting pretty freaked up!" They attempted to run into the bathroom, but again, just winded up sitting down on the table again. Something kept spawning them back at that spot instantaneously, to which Shaggy assessed – "Oh, we just forgot to pay for our food. I'll take care of this." He walked over to the cashier and gave him his last 20 dollar bill (he had a lot more money, but that was his last 20 dollar bill). "Like, could you hand me my bill man, me and Scoob didn't pay yet and it is about closing time (still five hours away from closing time) so if we could just cash in and get ourselves outta here, that'd be swell and stuff. I mean, I'd love to stick around here after hours but man I've got a pizza waiting in the oven at home and I think it's about to burn so, y'know…" A creepy stock butler looked at the money that was given to him, smacking his lips in indifference, and then averted his attention to the table. "Please be seated, sir. We'll have your food ready in no time." "But man, you already ordered us our food. We weren't even finished with it but I guess we were gone long enough for you to think we left, Heh, isn't that right Scoob?" Scooby shook his head. "I'm terribly sorry sir, but all of your food was stale and old. You didn't even finish the pasta, and you know how I feel about pasta. The Italians have quite the penchant for things like pasta, things that you cook and have with meats and sauce. Cheese, or scallops. These are foods that I personally wouldn't even feed to an eel, but you guys are willing to take chances, and for that, please, have this in my… indifference." He took out a switchblade, and almost stabbed Shaggy in the chin, but this was just a bluff stab – he put it right into his pocket and told him to sit down while he unlocked the door. Using gymnastics, the butler moved from his stool behind the counter to the automatic doors, which he had to unlock using a key, and then he pushed the doors open, and pointed the way out for out brotherly cousins, Shaggy and Scooby Dooby Doo.

WHAM BACK AT THE TABLE. Shaggy was getting irritated by these mental gymnastics and demanded a refund of all the time being wasted. But the butler was gone, and Scooby was too. "Like, y'know… Scooby Doo, where are you?" He scratched his head, really hard, while he sat at a table vacant of all but a salt shaker, a dimple of whipped cream, a napkin folded neatly, and shaving cream. "I can't live off this stuff, man! Zoinks!" Shaggy once again attempted running out of the store, running in a perpetual pattern from the table to the door, over and over again in a repeating cycle, with his velocity increasing. Using his cartoonish leg strength, he kept trucking on in his shoes, in green shorts, and his dampened red polo shirt, and reached speeds upwards to 45 mph. He ran so fast that at one point he tripped and somersaulted straight through the glass automatic doors, shattering them, only for him to reemerge at the table without a scratch, but he kept persisting, and desisting, and insisting – until finally, the door gave way and he fell into the employee kitchen, where Scooby was waiting intently. "Are you ready to eat, Shaggyyyyyyy?" Scooby brought in bulk food basics from the deep freezer: pre-cooked salad, mashed naders, mashed potaters, a rose bud bouquet, Danish apple jacks, and Jacky Jack Jack Jack. Truly, food had never been so Vicious before, complete with teeth, decals of the Bad News Bears, a CD case full of gummy pineapples – it was just getting old. "Beep beep!" a bus announced. They heard it outside, a breath of fresh air, an attempt for escape, the sound of kids pouring into a restaurant that was only 16 x 16 feet, a crowd, they would say. "OOGA BOOGA. OOGA BOOGA." The kids were chanting inside the room, waiting for dinosaur chicken nuggets – what a joke! Shaggy put on his chef's hat and walked out to the customer area to greet them. "Like, welcome to Chipotle. I'm your host, Chef Shaggy, eater of all the food in the house. How can I, like, take your order, man?" He addressed this to every intent pair of eyeballs, full of youth and full of hunger. "Do you have dinosaur chicken nuuuuggets?", one girl with a crew cut inquired. "Like, we can always check, man. Hey scewb, do we have any of those minotaur chicken nuggets?" Scooby jumped inside of the freezer and didn't come out for some time. After two minutes, the door opened sluggishly and he slowly walked over in the thralls of hypothermia with a bag of frozen nuggets in his mangy muzzle. "Like, congratulations Scoob." Shaggy crossed his arms. "While you your diddling around in the fridge, all the kids left out of impatience, and heh heh I called one of them a nerd and he started wetting his pants!" Shaggy started scratching his chin, proud of the fickle accomplishment he had just committed. Shaggy warmed himself up by almost dying, and when he came to, he realized that they still had 4 hours before closing time – truly a monotonous experience from any pedigree. "Well Scoob, if we have to wait this long we might as well hit the hay" Scooby mocked. Shaggy looked at Scooby with an evil eye and said "you get the sheets, I'll get the pillows." They walked around the establishment, looking for sleepware to get acquainted with, and actually found two sleeping bags, one a polyester blue, the other one pure wool! Who would be itchy tonight?, they battled for hours about this. Bonks to the heads, broken teeth, an eyeball was irritated to the point of no return, BIG SWOLLEN EYE. Scooby would never see the same again, and Shaggy had rashes all over his body – wonder where that came from. Developing pustules of strange size and dynamic, Shaggy allowed himself to succumb to the disease in order to get a good night's sleep – and Scooby just couldn't shut that eye, thus preventing him from sleeping. "This is going to be the best night ever." Shaggy thought to himself, drifting into sleep. "OH NO" SCOOBY SCREAMED.

Cicadas started to chirp outside, like it was night, but surely it wasn't – they just turned off all the lights to create the illusion it was an appropriate time to sleep. Shaggy's fever intensified, and all of his sweat started pooling around him in a grimy, stoner manner, while Scooby was just in pieces. That eye of his needed a doctor's attention, and he was starting to feel exhausted. Luckily, a small bottle of Clear Eyes was just in the cabinet, and when he found out, he dumped the entire thing on his giant, swollen eye. Instantaneously, it disappeared – the entire eyeball, and he could rest. Neither of them minded the infestation of lizards running laps around their sleeping bodies, all sorts of skinks doing lizardly flips and chattering their knockers – nippy lizard mouths, snapping and cooing in melodious manners – lizard songs, lizard dances – all of these lizards dancing in group situations, group efforts – chanting inaudibly, taking turns jumping off Shaggy's erection (he was sick) – these were the lizards that found things to do when no one else was doing anything! Fine lizards, of seven different colors, they all were monogamous, with families, good values, long bloodlines – diseased, dirty lizards with no eyes, just dance around the dying, like skeletons would do if they had the time. Tongue-lashing lizards, beaked buffoons, scary scaly scabs of existence, pouring their effort into the demise of two cartoon characters. Scooby already ate half of them by accident, he tends to bite the air while in REM sleep, and plenty of lizards could not foresee such gnashing, especially from a Pup named Scooby Doo. Shaggy woke up to having smallpox, and seeing lizards escaping his peripheral vision. "Like, I don't feel so good, Scoob. It must've been the pizza!" Shaggy attempting to get on his hind legs, but fell back down onto the ground. He knew he caught a pretty bad cold, so he got an Epi-Pen of Sudafed out and lodged it into his neck. The pox on his body started to swell into big, ballooning bubbles of plague, and YOP. ALL OF THEM POPPED, SPIDERS CRAWLED EVERYWHERE. "Ah, what a relief!" Shaggy exasperated as the colonies of spiders took to the corners and stayed there. Scooby was still sleeping, still getting a good night's [sic] sleep, still waiting for the doors to finally close on them. It was 6 PM, and Chipotle was finally closing. They got out of the kitchen, attempted to open the now locked doors, and cried in their frustration. "Rike we're never gonna get rout of this place, Raggy!" Shaggy put his paws over his eye and he just had a bawling fit, slobbering, guffawbering, even coughing up body parts. "Now Scoob, if you get into those crying fits it's just gonna remind me of chopping up onions, and we all know what that does to you." Shaggy cracked his back and dispensed Pez out of his tongue, only to reingest it. "Now Scoob, I have an idea, and if you're okay with it, we're gonna break the law." Scooby complied by standing on his hind legs and walking around like a human being. Finally! They took a stroll to the kitchen area again, where there was an air vent, completely chilled for exploration, and they used the power of two sentient beings (Elmer Fudd and Bugs Bunny) to shimmy up into the vent and start crawling. Scooby was already an expert at this, learning from Philip J. Fry, but Shaggy didn't pay attention to any TV, and so he got his fat self stuck in there. "Like, I'm stuck Scoob!" "Re know, Raggy." Scooby was fed up with Shaggy's lack of athletic power. Using his teeth, he pulled Shaggy through the vent with all his strength for what had to have been several miles, until the finally reached the Chipotle location sixteen miles away, and this one was open! They fell in through to the entrance of Chipotle, where their previously discarded food was awaiting them again. "Alright, we can be back to what we were doing, Scoob." Scooby agreed non-vocally and they sat down, getting to work on those baked burrito bazillions, disappearing like pizza rolls in the clutches of mad scientists. "Like Scoob, you've got to try these." He told Scooby, who was obviously eating them. "Why don't you try one, man?" Scooby didn't care much for Shaggy's stupidity and kept at em, devouring them like a mother eel would devour her young. Just in time, too, because by this point they had taken in almost half of the food on the table! Success! The calories were starting to add up and Shaggy's hair started to fall out – it wasn't the sickness, but rather too much of the sauce his was using – it wasn't sauce, it was acid! He poured it on his own head, for Christs sakes! This wasn't a sauce as much as it was a saucy situation, because even grown women like bald heads, and man, if those chicks were coming back, then he had to have some sort of surprise waiting for those bitches.

They took out a chilled halo from a freezer and shared it, putting it on each other's heads, reenacting the Gods that they spited as children. "Look at me Scoob, I'm an apostle of Hell." Scabby lurched forward and lost control of himself, spilling all of the saliva out of his mouth – he's completely dry of moisture. Scooby, on the other hand, was too busy with the inherited narcissism that's latently airbourne, he combed his hair in an obsessive, dirty manner – like a newly born whore. His pelt started to change color from dog brown to blood red – obviously this comb functioned more as a razor. Shaggy took responisibility in getting the first aid kit from the deep freezer and spilled all of the contents over Scooby's head in an attempt to subdue him, but this only intensified the self-grooming that dog mind equated to suicide. "Like Scoob, if you don't stop I'm gonna eat all your pizza!" Scabby decried. Scooby did at least several horizontals spins in order to snap himself out of his delusional fever of self-importance. "Rike, rhere was I, Shaggy?". Shaggy took a while to move slowly over to Scooby shoulder, made sure he was staring hard at the floor, and said out loud "You were in hell, ol' pal. You were in hell." He twisted his hair into dreadlocks to cheer up the now resuscitated dog, who could still only speak in rhymes, in his own head. "Let's just eat more of that food, huh ol' pal?" The dog was not paying attention to any human speech at the time, too many problems with the facility. Rust lined just about every tangible surface in this place, even the sinks, even the fridge, even the ceiling fan – this rust was rust for bust, and I lust. "There's more to be had from this", Scooby's inner mind pondered. Scooby dashed from the kitchen back to the table, only to find that the refrigerator was squashing all of the food they worked ever-so-hardly to eat. Scooby's first reaction was to attempt fitting his head underneath the several-pound fridge and lap up the quashed food from underneath, but this was just silliness in its fullest form, Scooby knew that most of that food was now unobtainable, all gone – all vooshed out of restaurant like his ambitions long ago. This dog was going outside, but now look at him – stuck in a bathroom with automatic stalls. The environment was skipping too much to be interesting, or appropriate for the situation. And when all sense was lost, in came Scrappy Doo, in shining armor, with a courageous face, with flags and banners streaming side by side, held up by dismembered puppy paws – truly the glory had arrived just in time for the dog to lay his head on his companions shoulder and weep nothing but slobber. "Hello my friend, I have returned from a vacation to death." Scrappy proclaimed, pronouncing every word incorrectly. The boys got together and had themselves a nice time out, effectively leaving the plaza and walking around outside, where aspects of Chipotle still lingers – burners that made burritos were hung by tree branches, the tiled floor replaced the grass and concrete that was supposed to be lining the outdoors, ceiling fans were falling continuously from the sky, the cheap ones bought at Lowes by an overstressed, overweight, overencumbered piece of shit. His name was pronounced 'Man-a-ger'. These were troubling accessories to the outdoors, ones that Shaggy knew full well he may not escape. Did they do something wrong. Did they finally order too much food? These were questions that were immediately forgotten upon gestation because "look over there, an ice cream parlor, Scoob!" Even the valiant Scrappy couldn't resist, although he very well could've. In the parlor was a masked marauder with mumbo jumbo in his mantra of mash. What am I describing, do you ask? He had a tapestry of human lies draped behind him, while Ice cream was spilling in a perpetual fountain with only six colors. I mean flavors. "What would you boys like today? I do have ice cream, but I also have fingers!" He moved his fingers like an ape would move multiple penises, if he had them. "Well, I dunno. I was just fixin for a vanilla scoop." Shaggy bit down on his nails and felt strange pleasure. "Well, I can certainly help – but I also can certainly ignore you!" The man closed his eyes and waited for them to leave, but this was in vain – everyone in this town's hungry. After Chipotle re-opened, he re-opened his eyes, only to find that they in fact didn't leave and stole most of his possessions. "And to think I was being enigmatic." He packed up what little he had and started walking down the familiar path he'd walked through many times when he was a toddler, alone, without parents. "I remember when these leaves still had juice in them." He said, while biting down on a various few leaves of poisionous pucker-plants. His lips were drying quicker than his liquor, which was evaporating quicker than a child's snicker. "I remembered when these leaves still had juice in them" he restated, his soggy britches leaving several trails of intersecting juice. His eyelids drooped, his knuckles whitened, his teeth curved outwards like untamed nails from an institutionalized man. The sun set and rose seven-hundred times before he fell headfirst into the trail, feeling his sense of time unraveling like a spool of yarn in deep space. "I remember when these leaves still had juice in them." The eyes were dry, and the scenery faded into calcium, dirt, and talcum powder. The skeleton was the first thing to go, all crumbly and ridded by the wind all fading and dispensing in solitary retardation. Then the muscles spooled out like strings, all sentient like hovering tapeworms. Scooby and Shaggy resisted the urge to walk any further before they realized they left their empty wallet back at Chipotle. They looked at each other, giggled, then screamed. "Scooby, this really bites the dust." They walked at about triple speed back to the store to retrieve what they had left there, only to find that the building has been renovated and Scrappy's on top of it. "I have all the superpowers" Scrappy deluded, as he put his left paw on his heart and his right paw over his left paw. "Rike, ret down from there, Rappy!" Scooby just covered his eyes. The sun grew awfully bright and within minutes the roof, lined in sloppy tar, caught on fire. Scrappy, with no place to go, just ran around the smoldering hot top of that building until yeah the entire thing dropped. It just took all the time in the world for the debris to finally hit the ground, but when it did, Scrappy's bones flew out like projectiles and impaled trees, car windows, and a pup named Scooby Doo. Scooby was fearful of his life because the bone took him far, far away – past the park and past the trees, past the garbage, between Shaggy's knees. Through the highway and out the door, into the field, forevermore. Scooby landed nicely in a puddle of sand, where his rear-end knocked against a piece of contraband. He looked at it, puzzling, wondering why it was there – but a close examination revealed that it was covered in hair, and oh, he knew, he knew how it got there. Sniffed it onced, barfed – sniffed it twice, and he took it back to Shaggy, who was tapping his foot, waiting for his friend to come back. "Like, it took a little under an hour, Scoob. I'm pretty pissed off." Shaggy examined the object Scooby took with him. "What the deuce?" He took it into his own hands, then pressed his face against it, and sighed. He attempted to scrape the outermost layer off with his front teeth, but this was in vain – so he simply sat on it and thought for a while. "This thing's giving me the creeps, scooooob." Time itself seemed to slow down, as the two attempted a mid-jump, or a secondary jump in mid-air, in their thoughts. Shaggy didn't enjoy the presence of Forumla-A chapstick pressed up against his knockers. He demanded a refund, but no one was there. Where did all the money go? Where's the French kiss? These are questions that a madman asks himself once reaching the plateau of putrid heights, and once there, never will return unless asked to. "Man, if only I could like go to the basement of Chipotle." The screen started spinning a flurry, and in a hurry, they got there – all disheveled, like they had just gotten out of a goblin's mind. "Like, let's never go outside again, Scoob." They walked over to the furnace, which was cooking at a steady 80 degrees Fahrenheit, warming up everything, but just barely. The years-old posters that lined up the walls reminded the characters that Chipotle used to be a eating place with integrity, but has since corroded into a senseless place of despair, especially with the new color scheme. There was nothing to eat down there besides some spiders, French toast, and guacamole. Combine the three and you get a whole lotta Guac. "Knock knock." The door knocked for some time, and when Shaggy opened it up, it was Fred. "I heard you guys stumbled onto a mystery" said Fred, while lifting a weight with his right arm. "Like yeah man, some mystery. I feel like I've been wandering this place for hours." Scooby replaced the hole in his eye with a die, which he could turn to any number between 1-6 to give answers to people without talking. "How are you doing, Scooby?" Fred inquired. Scooby flexed his face and the die shifted to '2'. Fred kind of stared at him for a while, then switched the weight to the other arm. "Have you guys seen Velma or Daphne?" "Like yeah man, they came by a couple hours ago – they just got back from a shopping spree and the mall right across the street." Fred started doing pushups on the disgusting concrete floor. "That's great, guys! Looks like we'll have to find them!" Fred completed his rep of six push-ups, and then walked back upstairs – the boys had trouble deciding whether they were to follow him or if they should just sit on the floor and cry. "Roooroororooororororooororooroororrrr…" Scooby immediately ran up the stairs, slid on his paws, attempted to change direction but failed, and ran straight into a giant clown's face, also known the door. Shaggy almost followed him, but knew it would just lead to more insanity, so he laid on the floor, "just for a couple seconds", he said to himself, but surely took much longer. When he finally decided to get up those stairs, they had already accumulated dust on them, and when he got to the very last step, he saw Fred waiting for him with a pup named Scooby Doo. They decided to take the rollercoaster out – three seats, just enough for them – and off they go at 16 blazing miles per hour – out of Chipotle, and into the plaza where the precocious pimply-faced peers were still perusing the parliament. When the girls met up with Freddy, he knew that he really had to go, so he let one of them wipe their faces off with his ascot, and then he disappeared. "I'm off, see ya guys!" Fred took a leap of faith, but faith wasn't so, and then – he broke his bones. He continued to slide on the concrete until he was out of sight. Velma and Daphne giggled at how much they had bought with so little money, enough magazines to stuff an entire house full with no space left. Shaggy looked at the mess of paper, nudged at Scoob, and then pulled out a gun. "This is where I get off, ol pal." He shot at Daphne, and Daphne went away.

Fourteen Siamese men were said to have taken the remainder of the food, carrying it to the top of a building, and stacked it up in a presentable fashion, as a prize for climbing – but Shaggy has had plenty of experienced with shimmying up great heights, as demonstrated in the episode where he and the gang snuck into the museum which housed the black knight. Taking his time up the rickety barbelled ladder of Latter Day barbarism, he got to the top of the dumpy building by the creek and picked up the food using all of his muscles. Scooby applauded him by walking around in a circle like a lion, then vomiting. Shaggy used an autistic approach to return to ground level, actually leaping off of the building and dropping all of the food, he landed square on his knuckles and screamed, "Oh Mercy!" Scooby ran to his aid but it was too late; the ants took all the food away, or rather, attempted to before a heavy rain came in and carried all the food to the sewers, where another adventure awaits, but not for Shaggy. He's going to the hospital stat; the ambulance arrived at an acceptable time, not too conveniently fast but they certainly heard the call. They bandaged the blonde boy's hands very well, so he could not use any of his fingers, and muzzled Scooby. The ambulance drove around at about 20 mph, taking their time on speed bumps and occasionally driving onto the sidewalk, the driver was pretty lazy and tired, thought to himself, "If I could have any job in the world, this would be it", using his prehensile Dalmatian paws to stack dominoes on his dashboard while paying adequate attention to the road. When they finally got to Coolsville hospital, Shaggy's bandages were soaked in the blood of another man, and Scooby bit his muzzle off. These were dark times. The hospital doors opened on their own, and Shaggy was escorted by the driver to the Emergency Room, where seven civil nurses awaited to perform surgery and civil, celibate Daphne, who was shot in the upper breast by a bullet that did its best. "Bless you" she blessed as the bullet in question was undressed, revealing gunpowder, a written note, and a key to a chest [a pup named Scooby Doo?]. With this key she closed the hospital on the outside, and walked in a storm of confusion into the nature trail of her understanding – she was lost. The nurses started by doing twirls and kissing the injuries on Shaggy's knuckles one at a time, like a very elaborate dance. They wore lipstick that mimicked the color of common woods used in housing: mahogany, blackwood, and contoured billy-bib blockwood. They had a routine where they pretended to be swimming in a swimming pool as a team, exchanging surgical tools like they were batons and each making the same type of incision into Shaggy's swollen pompers. Shaggy gave a look of ragged uncertainty to Scoob, who was too busy trying to pantomime having a cone around his neck. The girls pulled out mysterious, joke objects from the incisions they incised: rubber bands, mallets, and a grinch's horn, savant-creased duck, and the daffodils from Shaggy's childhood – all stuck all gluey-like onto the ceiling to dry and shrivel like breath-blown balloons. The girls made valiant efforts to keep Shaggy occupied while they performed no real surgery, and continued their flowery, unprofessional dances. Shaggy's impatience finally took hold after the lack of anesthetic, and he calmly, but rudely asked the girls to hurry it up. The girls must've traded their hearing for crack, because no response, no sympathy, all dancing. The utensils themselves were long gone by this point, Scooby threw them into the trash and the girls were too nervous to pick up sharp objects they couldn't see, so they just continued dancing. Shaggy's limp leg extend outwards and tripped one of the girls. Upon doing so, they all instantly turned into vampires and flew out the window. Shaggy got comfortable on the floor with Scooby and fell asleep to recover from the improper treatment he just received. While zonked out in his own snoring snooze, his wounds opened and closed in hypothermic morse code, sending patterns of consistent temperature change onto the floor, freezing and refreezing it into a mini ice-rink for mites and parasites. A novel evolutionary curse: mites skating in tandem on the ice, doing twirls and breaking their body parts on purpose, using the previously crumbled mite matter as ramps to do their tricks. A multiple twirl, a doggy's dream, and horse's gallop – it didn't take long to learn the tricks, and Scooby's obsession with equine bodily spasms held his interest on microscopic shit such as this. The mites all passed doggy's peripheral vision, yelling "Hi Scoob!", or "How's the weather up there?" they screamed, giggling before they destroyed themselves for the spirit of the circus. One mite even took the initiative to jump onto Scooby's nose, burrow into the sensitive nervy follicles and transmit deadly, computer-virus codes which didn't affect this beast, not in the slightest. Scooby pawed his face and ridded of the criminal, then sighed and sat on the ice-rink. This is when he started to notice his tongue: it had been getting more and more enflamed and slobbery in the past few days, leaving giant trails of komodo spack all through his travels. The bacterium that rested on the spit would be useful to kill criminals with, but all Scooby cared about was knives. Knives and forks and spoons, they could've eaten all the food by now if they had these, but finger food is slow eating, ideal for a family setting or if you're watching your weight. Dogs aren't supposed to watch their weight, but in light of the chubbiness Scooby was gaining, he put his muzzle back on and whined, just to entertain himself. Shaggy unclenched his fists, took a deep, sour yawn – the vibrations of which shook all the plaque from his teeth, and spit yellow spit like a miniature fountain onto Scooby's head. "Like if it weren't for those girls, I'd still be outside with these hands of mine hurting like Hell, Scoob. Maybe I should be more careful with how I land my jumps, these knuckles aren't very for absorbing impacts." He looked at his swollen, gaping punchers and sighed, rebandaging them to look like boxing gloves – he punched Scooby square in the nose, but it only hurt him. "Yeeee-owwwww!" Shaggy did a overly dramatic flip back onto the ground, potentially hurting his back but he was fine. "R-he-he-he-he-he-he-he!" Scooby snickered, and then he stuck his tongue out and Shaggy backed away. "You really should get that thing checked, Scoob. Tongues aren't supposed to be bruised and green!" The dog waged his tail and walked out of the hospital unsupervised while Shaggy put his clothes back on and followed in time. They noticed the cobblestone patterning that was used around the hospital area, looked like meticulous work for nothing, because these bricks could be removed without any effort – no fastening, no adhesive – just laziness. "Like Scoob, watch this…" he chucked the brick at the hospital window and broke it. "R-he-he-he-he-he-he!" Scooby took several with his prehensile tail and slammed them into the door like a sledgehammer – the door snapped inwards and set off the alarm. They walked away like they didn't give a shit, but were cautiously looking around for any type of security or policeman, because those would be the type of people that would ruin their fun.

Daphne was putting on make-up next to the Mystery Machine as Scooby and Shaggy returned from hardly working. "It's about time you guys showed up, where's Velma?" "Like, she's right there!" Velma walked over to the crew and they exchanged numbers. "It's a good idea we all got new numbers for the new year, sort of keeps things interesting, plus you can surprise your lesser friends with your new numbers. Say I call Fred, and he goes – "Uhhh who's this?" and I'd respond "It's Velma, don't you remember me?" and Fred would go "Yes."" Shaggy really didn't care, because his telephone number was the same number as the local Chipotle's. "If I ever need to ring in some eats, I know who to call, myself hehehe." He called his own number and got a busy tone, then hung it up, sat on the ground, and starting scratching his head in severe confusion. Scooby's tummy grumbled, he looked around for the nearest edible thing and found it – a stray cat walking by itself in the middle of the highway next to TGI Friday's. The cat also had a collar on, but it was an electric collar that had a very extensive range, so the cat just kept getting shocked and shocked while in the middle of a busy highway – it smelt cooked, but it was still moving, probably in spite of its own demise. The cat's tail was curled like a fancy onion ring, and its eyes were baked-bean red. The meows it mewed were a jumbled murmur of hisses, teeth-chattering, and grunts of panthers provoked by pain. Scooby knew that he would have no food for the next few weeks considering the newest diet his muzzle was forcing upon him, so he decided to take the assertive action and eat this cat before death got it first. Using only his bottom right paw, he leaped over the heads of his friends and sprung onto the highway, where a Frogger scenario was about to take place. The cat still had some Chess logic intact in that cooking cranium, and decided to make a knight's move to the median, where other hungry dogs were waiting. Scooby saw this plan coming from a foot away, and reacted a little slowly but still got to where he needed to be, on the back of another dog, another Great Dane in fact, much older than he. The dog barked fourteen times before scratching his head with his foot, sticking said foot in mouth, biting it, and then howling. Scooby knew this was the perfect time to pounce on the pretty kitty and forced the cat into the grass. Kitty's limbs started spasming and clawing at anything it could reach, but it was fruitless – the dog had gotten his way, and Scooby gently placed the cat into his mouth and trotted back, wrecking a car on the way. Shaggy, Velma, and Daphne applauded Scooby as he walked back, then immediately scolded him and swatted the cat out of his mouth, to where the cat ran away terrified. "Bad dog, Scoob!" Velma hissed. "Nice goin', Scoob." Shaggy encouraged. "In all my years…" Daphne bemoaned. These were ancient men and women stuck in teenage bodies, and they hated every second of it. After a brief discourse about the dangers of sticking dirty animals in your mouth, they decided to break the ice by getting coffee and burritos at Chipotle. Taking turns passing the au jus sauce around, dipping their tongues in it like they were sampling ice cream, they reached their table, reclined, sighed, and fell asleep. No more partying for these guys, they had been through a rough day and deserved a nice slip into something more comfortable. Shaggy passed around some bandanas, which they wrapped around their eyes tightly and started to snore, even though they were far from falling asleep. The cute waitress came with a bow-tie on her face and wondered just how long ago did these traveling clowns fell asleep: you've got Daphne with her caked make-up and frazzled, dead hair – you've got Velma with the baboonish nerd lips, you've got Shaggy, for all reasons pacified by the quaking retardation of the ceiling fan, and you've got a damn mutt dirtying up who knows what. She looked at all this with an accepting glare, put her bow on the dog's dainty, dirty dome, and committed suicide. When she was done, she got the coffee out of her pocket and poured it on the table, to which the humans lapped it up like dogs and Scooby bathed in it like a pig. An airplane cried above, shredding clouds with its engine and spitting out condensation, a torrential rain – pouring right above Chipotle and making all the food soggy! No more dry burritos in this dump, like soggy salads and roast beef colder than necessary. Then the floor opened up and sloped completely vertically, and all the tables and customers slid down into a bottomless pit. The coffee was strong, and Shaggy and Scooby and Daphne didn't even know they were falling, but Velma had a clear idea of what was going on – the floors were not supported by anything when the establishment was first built, and because of this was always at the risk of running into a situation like this. Whether they'd land soft or hard was all in the hands of their creator, and they knew that the creator would go easy on them – a hard, checkerboard floor. It killed everyone but the cartoon characters, for shame. The floor spanned beyond what could be registered in an animated brain – no dimensions to speak of, no boundary or distance could be achieved. From then on, balls of pox arose from the unspeakable lines of the void and circled around the debris from the world above, analyzing it for future consumption. In a similar manner to how a spider incapacitates its prey, the balls of pox sent string after string of sticky floss, colored in a deep shiny black, around the aching bodies of the Mystery Team, creating a sort of net to situate them nice and tuckered in onto the impossibly cold floor. They didn't want to struggle because it was soft as a doe's kind words, the words that deer speak to babies before screaming obscenities at them. Shaggy tried drinking from his coffee cup, but it all spilled on the fall down. "Zoinks!" The others just seemed mesmerized as the ball of pox purposely emulated a traffic signal by blinking red, yellow, and green – and above them, disembodied traffic, all bad drivers, drove in mid-air and crashed into things that weren't there, showering the floor with injurious metal and glass and leather fragments, which were swept up by anthropomorphic clouds. Eventually a colossal scissor fell with velocity into the ground, stabbing it and causing rhythms of writhing instability to travel through the floor, massaging the dog. "R-he-he-he-he-he-he-he." It was pretty therapeutic, but it caused Velma to lose her glasses. "My glasses! I can't see without my glasses." Good thing too, because at this point a terribly steep valley was forming in the floor. At the center of the valley, objects were propelled through it at the speed of light into a brick wall, shattering it into its fundamental elements, and this valley was creeping towards the gang – but they weren't paying attention, the balls of pox were playing charades and it was a very aggravating game, seeing as how they couldn't really guess anything from these featureless, stupid spheres. "A doctor!" Daphne guesses. **"No, try again." **"A cockroach?" **"No, try again." **"A g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g" **"A ghost?" **The ball travelled several miles vertically and immediately came back down. **"No, try again." **Scooby looked around for clues, and lo and behold he saw it – that rip in the ground was heading straight their way. "Ruh roh!" Scooby thought, but he couldn't speak because of the muzzle – dumb dog. He covered his paws and awaited something spooky to happen. The others were too invested in beating a game of charades. "It is a noun?" **"Yeah." **"Like can you cook with it, might be useful for pizza." Shaggy half-heartedly joked. The balls of pox spun around in what appeared to be amusement, and then returned to their judicial positions. **"No, I suggest you try again." **This was getting ridiculous, and Shaggy did have a gun on him. "I knew the answer all along!" Shaggy jumped out of the netting and slowly fell towards the balls with his gun out, pulling the trigger and shooting at them, and this scared the balls away, each one shooting off into different directions. Shaggy fell four hours until he finally reached the trampoline he was meaning to buy a while ago, but spend too much of his money on putting a microwave into the Mystery Machine that was powered by solving mysteries, so after a scary day's work, he would roast a hot dog inside of it based on the merit of their hard work and it was always cooked evenly and it was always healthy. Scooby would usually get to it before Shaggy could take a bite and when he did, all he tasted was bun, to which he would look at Scooby, and Scooby would look at Scrappy, and Scrappy would look at himself in the mirror and wonder why he ate a hot dog. Scrappy died, by the way – I don't know if you saw it but while Scooby was walking back with the cat in his muzzled mouth, Scrappy realized that Scooby forgot his Scooby Snax and ran to tell him but a car came careening across the median, killing several real-life dogs and a pup named Scrappy Doo was too distracted looking at that to realize the pothole that he walked into and bumped his coccyx and kill him instantly – meanwhile, airborne Scooby Snax scattered across the road, most ran over, a few still there waiting to be eaten. Too invested in the stickiness of the net sprayed on them by the three balls, the gang felt that it would be better to lay here and experience their return to the periodic table than to continue solving mysteries, but just as they had readied themselves to accept the terminal fate, a clothed hand appeared and picked them up from a retard's folly, it was Fred.


End file.
